Locker Room Talk
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Leia overhears a crude conversation - but what's important is what she hears Han not saying. H/L; set on Hoth, directly before Ord Mantell, pre-ESB.


_a/n: I have no idea where this came from: it came to me, got a way from me a bit, and then ended up in a somewhat satisfying place? have fun. set DIRECTLY before Ord Mantell, as you will see._

* * *

 _ **Locker Room Talk**_

* * *

At the end of a rather informal and tedious routine High Command meeting, General Rieekan pulled Princess Leia aside as the leaders were shuffling their things together and filing out. He seemed to wait for a moment, saying nothing, as if he expected the remaining two generals in the room to depart. When they didn't, he shrugged to himself, and pushed a datapad into Leia's hands.

"I wondered if you might personally give Captain Solo his orders," he requested neutrally.

Leia's brow furrowed.

"His orders?" she asked. "He's a contractor," she pointed out. "Orders aren't applicable to him."

"Well, no," agreed Rieekan, "but we're running dangerously low on supplies, and we really can't afford him turning down an assignment offer – _and_ we can't afford to raise his pay," he said grudgingly – he knew the Hutt heat on Solo had been turned up recently, and the smuggler was getting anxious about paying back his debtor. Still – they needed him.

Leia held the datapad silently, her eyes on the general's expectantly. She refused to make his request easy on him, and said not a word. Rieekan cleared his throat.

"It's not an order," he said, "but if it comes from you, he's likely to do it, and he's less likely to shout and complain about it."

Leia lifted her brows acerbically.

"Han shouts at me all the time," she said crisply, _"and_ complains about me, more than anything else."

"Yes," Rieekan said hastily, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, "but he'll shout, and complain, and then he'll do it – if I go to him with it, he'll want to haggle."

She frowned, glancing down at the file pulled up on the pad – a hefty supply request, from two different port stops; but things they desperately needed: fresh food, more thermal clothing – and medicine; they so badly needed medicine. She sighed, shaking her head as she looked up.

"I don't know what kind of power you think I have over Han Solo," she murmured, her eyes narrowing. She inclined her head. "I'll take it to him," she agreed.

Rieekan grinned a little.

"Princess, I think you know very well what kind of power you have over Han Solo," he said, giving her a pointed look – Leia was a lot of things; reserved, careful, polite, conservative even – but naïve, she had never been; Han Solo wanted her, and he'd likely do whatever it took to get her.

She turned up her nose slightly, her expression guarded.

"Well," she retorted, her tone clipped. "Do not fool yourself into thinking I am willing to wield it," she advised.

Rieekan shrugged, his grin expanding a little, and turned to gather his papers, returning her cordial nod as she left him alone in the command control quarters.

She tucked the datapad under her arm as she made her way down the hall, seeking out Han. The sculpted ice walls of the base radiated freezing temperatures, but she'd long since adjusted to the chill, and she no longer shivered in these dreadful temperatures. She was cold, but it was no longer a discomfort: it was an unfortunate state of being that she adapted to.

Hoth was terrible; things could be worse.

Her search for Han was consumed by slightly wary thoughts concerning Rieekan's perception of their relationship. She couldn't deny that things had been _warm_ between them lately – ironic, considering the planetary atmosphere – but they weren't _that_ warm. They weren't Han-Solo-joins-the-Rebellion warm. They weren't Han-Solo-risks-his-neck-for-the-promise-of-a-spin-in-the-sheets warm. He was her friend and – well, that was it, and if Rieekan and other members of the command were getting the wrong idea, then the troops were, too, and she couldn't allow that sort of idea to take hold, because it would only sow discord and create accusations of favoritism –

Leia closed her eyes briefly and sighed, stopping near the _Falcon_ \- its systems were all dim, its ramp closed – since it was the middle of the day, that indicated neither Han nor Chewie were lingering around their beloved flying junkyard, so she paused, frowning.

"Princess?"

She turned at the polite call, found Wes Jansen clearing his throat.

"You lookin' for Han?" he asked.

She thought there was something annoyingly smug in his eyes, but she couldn't prove it, so she just nodded wordlessly.

"So, uh, he was out with Commander Traegar, helping with a drill – "

"Han?" Leia interrupted.

Jansen nodded.

"Sure, yeah, he had this idea that the new recruits, the young ones, could use the Wampas for target practice, hone their skills and get 'em off our backs," Jansen said. He broke into a grin. "And, he's got a knack for yanking some talent out of 'em – you know, abusive, but not so that he kills their self-esteem," Jansen snorted, "he'll insult their mothers, but not their manhood."

Leia still stared at him a bit incredulously – Han, criminal, smuggler, self-serving contractor, voluntarily out training troops? Involving himself in military exercises?

"Anyway," Jansen said, "he's down in the locker room."

Leia blinked.

"Han _Solo_?" she asked.

Jansen gave her a funny look, and nodded.

"He does it all the time," he said, as if she should know that. He shrugged. "Good commander," he said flippantly. "Good thing the Academy kicked him out; what if he was on _their_ side?"

Jansen reached up to rub his jaw thoughtfully, gave Leia a bit of an absent wave, and turned to stride back to his ship, leaving here standing there a bit dumbfounded – Han was drilling troops? Han _did this all the time_? How could she possible have missed that – Han was constantly finding things to brag about to her, to puff himself up, and he hadn't thought to drop something as impressive as _'I spend my free time amping up your forces even though I don't have to'?_

She compressed her lips, pensive, and after a moment, turned on her heel, and went to find a staircase to follow into the depths of the Hoth compound – where the locker rooms, which were really nothing more than glorified freezers with some crates for flight gear in them, were located. She had only been down to them once, and that was with a female pilot who was earnestly trying to convince her to issue an order allowing women to just keep their gear secured in their own rooms.

One look at the state of the locker room, and Leia had quickly agreed. Even now, despite the cold, and the fact that the icy air usually neutralized all sense of smell in favor of permanently running noses and numb senses, the hallway leading to the room smelled very distinctly like _men_.

She approached the doorway, and paused, deciding she'd best call out and announce her presence in case anyone was – indecent. Her pause, though, was extended when she heard voices – an unfamiliar pilot's, and then – Han's.

"—wish there were celebrations more often, then – nice to see 'em all dressed up," the unfamiliar voice was saying.

"What's the point in wishin'?" said another. "There ain't enough women to go around – bet you noticed they all had their eye on this'un, anyway."

Han laughed.

"Yeah, they've heard the stories about Corellians," he drawled.

"What stories?"

"That we last all night."

"Bull _shit_!"

"Still, pretty to look at 'em," came the first unfamiliar voice again. "Who knew some of these birds had a figure under the flight jacket!"

Leia compressed her lips slightly – they must be talking about the day of liberty High Command had authorized last week, when duties were suspended and all those enlisted were authorized to be out of uniform.

"How many'a them figures you seen, Solo?"

"Lost count," Han retorted, and Leia flushed – embarrassment, jealousy, she wasn't sure what with, but his callous response bothered her – then again, she shouldn't be listening in on locker room talk; she was sure it was horrid, wildly exaggerated, and not to be taken at face value.

"Get a look at the Princess, though?" one voice asked, following his comment with a low whistle.

Leia stiffened, tilting her head – she'd participated in that event, out of uniform, in a dress – just once, she let herself actually do something to her appearance, and yet she'd thought it had gone relatively unnoticed, other than Luke's sweet admiration and Han's annoying, and increasingly sexual, comments about it.

"I did," the other guy said. "Damn, that one spends a lot of time convincin' the world she's not a woman and then," he snapped, "you see _why_ , when you see she looks like _that_ in girls' clothes."

Their voices were taking on a suggestive edge.

"Yeah, she's gotta keep it covered, or she'd be a hell of a distraction!"

Leia swallowed uncomfortably. She supposed it was somewhat normal for men to talk about women – especially when there were so few women on base; she actually figured they'd be talking about _any_ woman like this, no matter what she looked like, and though Leia wasn't vain, she wasn't foolish, either, and she was at least marginally aware that she was attractive – so the banter didn't necessarily _shock_ her. She just found herself – feeling exposed, and slightly offended, which she assumed any woman would feel, overhearing such flagrant –

"She's got enough hair to pull on, if you know what I mean. Really get your fingers tangled in. "

A burst of laughter, and then a throat cleared; the snap of a towel.

"What I'd give to see that woman naked."

"As if she'd be in'trested in _you_ , Vokk – she needs a real man to melt all that ice."

"Bet she's a real firecracker once you set her off – hey, mewsk got your tongue, Solo?"

Leia clutched the datapad against her side, listening – Han hadn't said a word once the conversation veered towards her, and her stomach dropped with dread, unsure she wanted to hear the kind of things Han said about her when he was alone with other males. If it was anything like the things he actually said to her _face_ –

"Yeah, whaddaya think of her: your type?"

"I think you better watch your mouth," Han said, finally speaking.

He sounded like he was joking, but then again, there was a hard, warning edge to his voice – Leia immediately identified it; she'd heard it several times before. The two men he was with, however, completely missed it.

"Hey, that lieutenant, Ravi, he said he's been with her – "

Leia's mouth fell open – she was barely acquainted with Ravi Moxette, and he had the nerve to tell his comrades that he'd _bedded_ her?

"—said there was no point in buying the sweet little virgin act, 'cause she'd probably been around the base – good for morale –

"You ever tap that, Solo?"

"Hell, she's probably what they pay him with – run a few supplies, get a go at the last Princess of Alderaan – "

 _Act?_ Leia was thinking _. Act?!_

Laughter, irreverent male laughter – joking, teasing, a few more seriously vulgar comments that just bordered on ridiculous, and then, a sudden loud, choked swear, and a slamming noise, and the sound of crates skidding across an icy floor.

"I said _watch your mouth_."

Han's voice was cold, angry, and no longer had any trace of amusement in it.

" _Oy_!" yelped one of the recruits. "Take it easy!"

There was more scuffling.

"Man, I didn't say it, Ravi did!"

"You think Leia'd be stupid enough to sleep with a guy who runs his mouth like a thirteen-year-old kid on his first hooker?" Han snapped.

There was a _thump_ ; sounded like Han had pushed someone, or dropped him. Han had a habit of pinning people to walls by the neck when he was mad – her heart in her throat, Leia envisioned him doing that now, envisioned the look on his face – was he mad because he thought someone else got what he wanted?

"She runs this place," Han warned roughly. "Don't talk about her like that."

" _Kriff_ , Solo, let 'im up," whined a recruit. "It's just locker room fodder."

"I don't want to hear it," Han retorted dangerously. "Show some goddamn respect."

Even more scuffling, muttered swearing – the sound of someone kicking something, and slamming something.

"Never took you for squeamish," griped one of them.

"Guess you nailed it, Koran, _he_ must be screwin' her – "

A loud snapping noise, a somewhat girlish shriek, and Leia barely had a moment to think, to compose herself, before the two recruits – pilots, gunners, she didn't know – were storming out of the room, and they couldn't miss her. They couldn't miss her standing there, with a datapad under her arm, all military braids and military snow gear, covered up, reserved – the very leader they'd just reduced to an object with their braggart's speeches.

They came face to face with her, and it was to her credit that she didn't flinch, didn't even for a second avert her gaze from theirs. She watched as their eyes widened, faces and necks turned red, jaws either dropped or tightened, and she leaned back against the ice wall, her expression as cold as the planet itself.

"Your _High-igh-igh-ness_ ," one of them stammered, a devastated little squeak.

"Princess," a tone of disbelief and dread from the other, the blushes of mortification fading, the pale look of terror setting in.

She said nothing as she stared at them, and she knew from the looks on their faces that there was no need to report this to their squadrons, no need to issue reprimands or hand down punishments. The experience of being stared down by her, knowing full well that she'd overheard, was likely enough to cow them for the next century.

She jerked her chin just slightly, dismissing them, but she did speak before they were completely gone, offering just a sage word of wisdom, sage words her father had always given her:

"When you speak, you should always choose your words as if you were being overheard by the whole galaxy."

She was given two panicked, rushed nods, followed by the sound of footsteps as they scrambled off, and she wasn't quite sure if Han had heard her voice in the hall, or if he'd just been making his way out anyway, but he appeared a second after they were gone – in wrinkled clothes, his blaster holster thrown over his shoulder instead of slung around his waist, and with ice still clinging to the edges of his hair, he saw her standing there, and for a moment, his eyes flickered: surprise, maybe; wariness, and then a grim sort of acceptance.

He reached up and tugged on his holster, snapping it off his shoulder and running his hands over it.

"How long you been out here?" he asked flatly.

She watched him sling the holster around his hips, fastening it on snugly. His blaster was absent, no doubt secured on the _Falcon_. She watched the movement of his hands as he adjusted it, distracted momentarily, and then looked up at his face, her eyes tracing the line of his jaw.

"Since you said Corellians last all night," she estimated.

He glanced up at her in time to see her arch an eyebrow. He laughed shortly, but didn't sound very amused.

"So, you heard all that," he stated.

He straightened his shirt and looked at her, searching her expression for signs of distress. She lifted one shoulder, noncommittal.

"Enlightening," she said, deadpan. "I learned quite a bit about myself."

Han arched a brow.

"Did you?" he retorted cautiously – he seemed to be unsure if she was going to start screaming at him, or if she was teasing him.

She nodded neatly.

"I'm glad someone saw fit to inform me I slept with Ravi Moxette," she said, affecting a sort of wide-eyed, innocent look. "I wonder if it was good for me."

Han eyed her a minute, and then he gave her a slow half-smile, shaking his head.

"You really can hold your own, can't you, Your Worship?" he said, entirely rhetorical. He knew she could, and he also knew that deep down, what she'd heard had probably bothered her. Leia vigilantly downplayed her looks in order to ensure she was _listened_ to and not _looked_ at.

She didn't reply, just looked at him, reflecting on his lack of participation in the banter; considering how quickly his temper had flared at their verbal treatment of her. After a moment, she blinked, and reached for the datapad, waving her fingers with a careless flick of the wrist.

"They're boys," she said tersely. "They barely scratch the surface of vile things men in the Imperial Senate would whisper to try and shake my resolve."

She tapped the pad cursorily, lighting the screen, re-awakening the file, felt Han's eyes on her as she clicked through swiftly, saw him shift his weight out of the corner of her eye, put his arm out to brace it against the wall, leaning next to her. In his intent study of her profile he noticed that her hand was shaking – just barely shaking.

"Those guys are new," Han grunted abruptly, to soothe her. "Most of 'em, they wouldn't dare run their mouths like that," he added.

She thought he was trying to be reassuring. She said nothing for a moment, and then looked up, her faux fascination with the data abandoned.

"Why weren't you running your mouth?" she asked probingly.

He gave a sort of – soft grimace again, like he'd dreaded her asking him that, like he was bothered that he was decent. He shrugged, and after a moment, tilted his head, that devilish gleam sparking into his eyes. He gestured to his chest lazily.

"'Cause, Your Ladyship, I don't know if you've noticed, but I like talkin' to women, not about them," he drawled.

She kept looking at him with that damnable insightful gaze, and he turned his head, rubbing his temples tensely. He wasn't really the kiss-and-tell type, anyway, never had been, but did she have to overhear him acting like an over-protective, jealous lover – when he didn't even have any basis for that sort of behavior?

He couldn't help it. The nerve of them – to slander _her_ , of all people, when she was the best of them –

"I appreciate it," she said quietly.

"What?" he asked abruptly, distracted.

"I," she repeated slowly, "appreciate it."

He exhaled heavily, raising his eyebrows – was that all it was going to take, her overhearing something like this? There was something bitter on his face suddenly, something exhausted, and it made her anxious – despite how easy things had been between them lately, he always seemed like he was under pressure.

"Yeah," Han said, half to himself. "Yeah, Princess."

She couldn't decipher what he meant with such a simple answer, but she wished he'd say something else. She almost wished he'd provoke her, say something irritating and obnoxious – he'd been doing less of that lately, and she'd been doing less nitpicking and shouting, and she was almost desperate for a reason to push him away, write him off, _stop_ whatever was happening. She didn't really _want_ it to stop, but she couldn't see anything good coming of having an affair with him, and so she had to insulate herself.

He pushed off the wall, and glanced at her datapad expectantly. She cleared her throat softly, but her voice was hoarse when she spoke, anyway:

"There's a – tricky supply run, a stop at Trandosha, and then Ord Mantell," she told him. "Are you interested?"

He took the datapad, snorting quietly.

"Usual joke of a paycheck?" he muttered, half a question, half a statement. He scanned through the plan, the list of goods, and the mapped route. "I can do it faster on a different path," he added to himself.

She eyed him hesitantly.

"Same pay," she said. "Different company."

"They're assigning me personnel, now?" Han groused, looking up at her darkly. "Chewie and I work alone."

"I thought I might go," she said smoothly. She let that linger for a moment. "I need some time off this planet."

He arched his brows a moment, and then handed her the datapad back.

"Hey, Your Highness," he drawled. "They aren't _really_ offering you up as payment these days, are they?" he quipped.

She gave him an unreadable look, one eyebrow lifted neatly.

"Would you accept?"

He looked amused, but – surprisingly, shook his head.

"I'm not worth it?" she asked, feigning affront.

He leaned down and put his lips next to hear ear.

"Somethin' else you should know about me," he said. "I like my women to actually want me."

He drew back, though not as far away as he had been, and she smiled, lips pursed.

"You should stop hiding your true nature from them, then," she advised smartly.

"My true nature?" he scoffed.

She nodded her head at the locker room he'd defended her in, raised her eyes to the ceiling of the underground hall.

"I heard you were assisting in drilling the new recruits," she revealed. "No money in that."

Han scowled half-heartedly – now who the hell had gone and told her that? He shrugged with nonchalance, as if that helped restore some selfish bravado to him, and he reached up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly.

She fixed her eyes on him again, and held the datapad to her chest, crossing her arms.

"You know," she said, matter-of-fact, "I would have expected you to tell them you've had me all over the place, my bunk and your ship," she lifted one shoulder carelessly, "cockpit, gun turret, main hold, bunk – Chewie's hammock," she listed blithely. "You didn't."

He stared at her with a dry mouth, a little bowled over by the little speech, a little distracted by all the possibilities – it wasn't like he hadn't thought about it, _dreamed_ about it – Chewie's _hammock_ , which was a wild one – was _she_ thinking about that - ?

He cleared his throat pointedly.

"I guess I didn't want to jinx myself," he retorted, the suggestive tone of his voice weaker than usual.

"Ah, thinking ahead," she said neutrally.

" _Am_ I?" he asked – almost demanded. Did she want him to drag her back to his ship right this second? Because he'd do it, he'd throw her over his shoulder and not give a damn what the High Command thought about it –

She didn't say anything back for a long time, and she looked conflicted; concerned. With herself, probably. It must have really shaken her to find proof, incontestable proof, that he was a decent person under all that bravado and swagger, and if she couldn't tell herself he was a complete vagrant, she couldn't feasibly keep talking herself out of this thing between them –

At least, that's what he figured she was thinking.

And he knew her pretty well, even if she claimed he didn't know her at all.

"I," she started, and then sighed, as if frustrated with herself. "Thank you, Han," she said sincerely.

He shrugged.

"Yeah, Princess," he said again.

They looked at each other without saying anything, creases in foreheads, subtle tightness in jaws that indicated there was too much not being said.

She pushed off the wall.

"How long have you been helping with military exercises?" she asked intently.

He gave her an evasive look.

"Couple weeks," he said shortly. "Why?" he asked edgily.

" _Why_?" she fired the question right back at him, soft, breathless – she knew he was good, she knew he had an Academy background, but that sort of thing bordered on devotion to the cause and he wasn't –

"'Cause, I reckon I decided I'm staying," he said.

He even looked startled that he'd said it, and the words were so unexpected that she dropped the datapad.

She stared at him hard, and she smiled brilliantly. He gave her a sheepish, somewhat annoyed look, like he didn't want to be fawned over, and didn't want her to start getting effusive over him – and he bent to pick up the datapad for her. She caught his face in her hands as he started to straighten up, her heart hammering hard in her chest, and she just _looked_ at him for a moment.

He rolled his eyes and started to pull away, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, hugged him with everything she had in her. Taken aback, he rested his hand on the back of her head uncertainly. He smiled, and she finally let go of him and took a small step back, smiling with blinding brightness, a way he rarely ever saw her smile.

"Han," she said faintly, "I don't think you know how much I need you to stay."

He arched his eyebrows at her, positive she didn't realize what she'd just said.

"You need?" he said, tilting his head. "You?"

"We," she corrected breezily. "The Alliance," she reached out and took his arm tightly, fingertips pressing possessively into his clothing, burning through to his skin. "So you'll – I take it you'll go, to Ord Mantell?"

He folded his arms.

"I'll hold you to saying you wanted to go," he warned lightly.

She nodded – she'd go in a heartbeat; to get off Hoth for a little while, to spend time with him without the constant threat of his leaving hanging over her head, making her hesitate, making her restrain herself.

He smirked at her, heartened by her enthusiasm.

"You know, Leia, you run off on some mission alone with me, and there's gonna be a lot more locker room talk," he teased.

She didn't seem to be able to keep the grin off her face. She gave him a fleeting, suggestive look, pursing her lips primly.

"Maybe it'll be true."

It took him a moment to really get her implication, and he laughed, handing her the datapad back with a small smirk – _unlikely_ , he thought to himself – she was just on a high right now, elated; she'd pull back into herself in a few days, and exhibit that palpable fear of letting people in, but at least he knew he wasn't crazy; at least now he could tell there was something there – he wasn't cleaning up his act, and attaching himself to a bunch of insurgents, and throwing stupid loud-mouthed kids against walls for nothing – and he figured she knew, on some level, that he was doing it for her.]

* * *

 ** _"I thought you had decided to stay!"_**  
 ** _-Princess Leia Organa, The Empire Strikes Back_**

* * *

 _of course, then Ord Mantell was a disaster and Han had to turn her words back around on her ("We need? What about what You need?") ..._

 _-Alexandra_

story #308


End file.
